


Ruby Slippers

by Dr_Hoo



Category: Fringe (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Romance, F/M, Long, revisiting an old story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27170603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Hoo/pseuds/Dr_Hoo
Summary: Sometimes the journey isn't over once you get home. Peter and Olivia find their way back to each other.*I wrote this back when the show aired. It started as a post-ep to the Season 2 finale and mushroomed into a full, plot-driven piece with ten chapters. I've been meaning to add it here for years. I'll put up the chapters one at a time over the next few weeks, so bear with me :)
Relationships: Peter Bishop/Olivia Dunham
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. We're Not in Kansas Anymore

Faintly calloused fingers skated along her jawline, trailing both fire and ice in their wake before sliding up to thread their way through her now russet strands. Sighing contentedly, she sank deeper into his embrace, wrapping herself in his familiar scent and strength like a well-worn blanket.

 _‘This is home,’_ she thought fiercely as his hands fell from her hair to settle at the base of her spine, pulling their bodies flush and leaving her with no doubt as to the extent of her effect on him.

His lips found a sensitive spot behind her ear, sending a delicious shiver skittering along her every nerve down to the tips of her toes.

“I belong with you,” his words breaking over the sensitive skin of her neck, a warm wave that threatened to sweep her knees out from under her, dragging her along with the tide.

The simple assertion, an echo of her earlier entreaty, finally breached the carefully constructed dam around her heart, releasing a flood of emotions that threatened to drag her under. Pushing off from his chest, Olivia snagged Peter’s eyes with purpose. The warning in their dark depths was clear, but he didn’t pull away as she slid her hands behind his head and rose up on tiptoe to fuse her lips solidly with his. Saline droplets glistened on her lashes before forging trails down her cheeks as she forced her way into his mouth, pouring the gallons of fear, determination, confusion and, yes, love that had been boiling in her chest these last few months into a bruising kiss. Peter, for his part, took it all, consuming her desperation and feeding her strength as she rode out the wave.

When oxygen finally became more important than exorcising her demons, Olivia released him with a quiet gasp, creating only enough space for much-needed air to rush over her swollen lips. Rocking back on her heels, she stumbled slightly, listing dangerously to one side until Peter caught her under the arms and slipped his knee between her legs to steady her.

Dropping his forehead to hers, he chuckled low in his throat, warm breath ghosting across her face, reminding her of how cold she’d been for so long. “Never thought I’d see the day when the great Olivia Dunham swooned.”

Olivia narrowed her eyes at him before nipping at his lower lip in retaliation. He caught her before should could retreat, pulling her back in. This kiss started out far gentler than the last, but built quickly, spinning out of control as he dragged the zipper of her leather jacket down and his hands found their way up and under her shirt.

The brand of his skin against the bare small of her back drew a whimper from deep within, a sound that was quickly swallowed up by Peter’s questing mouth. The desperation rose again within her chest, fuelling her almost frenzied attempt to crawl up inside of him, to disappear into his arms and never come out.

The rollercoaster of emotions was making her sick. Less than twenty-four hours earlier, after weeks of frantic searching, she’d been trying to accept that Peter had left her behind for good, choosing his birthright over his makeshift family and crossing over to the other side forever. Now he was here in front of her and she couldn’t let go, couldn’t get close enough, hoping his warmth might melt the chill that had settled within her heart.

A crash from behind startled her, forcing Olivia to drag her lips from his. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of a bright flash of light before the room was plunged into darkness. Turning back, Peter was gone, her arms were empty and the cold rushed back in.

The unforgiving cement bench bit into her shoulder as Olivia slowly regained consciousness. Blinking did nothing to beat back the darkness. The slot in the door had already closed and any light that had been in the empty room was long gone. Reality hit her hard, a sickening blow to the gut that sent panic bubbling up into her throat.

She was alone.

She was captured, trapped, locked away in a deep, dark dungeon while everyone she’d ever cared about went on with their lives, likely oblivious to her plight. The last thing she remembered before she’d wound up here was her doppelganger pulling off her jacket. She was sure that she’d been replaced.

_‘Peter will know.’_

No matter how many times she tried to reassure herself with that particular affirmation, it brought her no comfort. Even if Peter did discover the truth, there was nothing he could do. The door was closed and they’d forfeited the key when they had lost Nick and the others. There was no one coming to rescue her.

Leaning her head back against the tiled wall, Olivia rubbed at her eyes, wincing at the grit that ground against her eyelids. Sleep was rare and hardly restful. She was never certain when light would slice through the darkness, blinding her after so many hours without it, or noise would buzz up around her like an invisible swarm of hornets, or some sort of sustenance would be shoved through the slot in the door. The lack of routine and random shots of discomfort was designed to obliterate her sense of time and space, a common torture technique even in her universe. Its goal was to destroy her connection with the outside world ... to destroy her humanity.

On its own, it likely wouldn’t work. Olivia had been trained to withstand worse measures of torture than this during her tenure with both the marines and the FBI. Hell, some of Walter’s ‘experiments’ made her current routine seem like little more than an annoyance. However, it didn’t end there.

Sometimes the door would open.

She was never ready for it, never prepared to fight back. The lack of routine had dulled her awareness, leaving her vulnerable to surprise. Strong hands would clamp around her arms and sharp pain would pierce her neck. When the fog cleared she would find herself in the grey room. In a strange, hazy way, the grey room reminded her of Walter’s lab in the bowels of Harvard: drab walls, solemn shadows. But that was where the similarities ended. Where Walter’s lab had become over the last year or so a sort of twisted sanctuary, Walternate’s playroom was simply a house of horrors, complete with a mad scientist and evil henchmen.

Olivia would inevitably wake up in the grey room strapped to a chair, IVs in both hands and electrodes taped to strategic locations about her body. She almost laughed at how commonplace this occurrence had become, both here and back in her own universe. The position almost left her homesick, but then the drugs would flow and thinking was no longer under her control.

She could only assume that it was this world’s version of Cortexiphan, however, Walter’s concoction seemed like sugar water compared to the poison they pumped into her veins. The visions were dark and brutal, cutting deep into her already damaged psyche with her most-closely held fears. She predictably thrashed and screamed, nearly tearing out her restraints as one-by-one, everyone she’d ever cared for was taken away from her over and over again.

By the time her tear-soaked cheeks slammed against the tile floor of her cell, Olivia’s throat was raw and every cell in her body burned with exhaustion and despair.

After reveling for a moment in the relief of cool ceramic against her overheated skin, she pushed herself up onto her knees. Her arms barely able to support her weight, she dragged herself across the tiny room, collapsing into a heap in the corner, using the walls for support. Dropping her head to her chest, Olivia closed her eyes, forcing herself to control her breathing, to bring order back to the chaos of her fractured mind.

She had yet to ascertain the purpose of these sessions, if they were to drag secrets of the other side from her uncontrollable lips, to discover her hidden ‘talents’ or simply Walternate’s way of making her pay for losing his son again, but she was certain of one thing.

They were priming the pump.

_‘You have to find your way back to that scared little girl.’_

_‘We don’t have a way to cross over, Olivia, but you do.’_

She was pretty sure that the good Mr. Secretary was not yet aware of the storm he was creating. She could feel it building from the depths of her core, a cumulonimbus of pain and fury, swirling layer upon layer, energy crackling from within. She didn’t need to be afraid anymore. Anger worked just fine.

Opening her eyes, she glanced down, the inky darkness receding in the face of a hazy blue glow that swirled over the skin of her hands like a will-o-the-wisp. Drawing from deep within, she couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at her lips as the glow grew faintly brighter, reflected in the olive green of her irises.

Unconsciously, she clicked her heels together three times, whispering under her breath, “There’s no place like home.”

***

Soft tendrils of hair swept delicately across his bare chest, an artist’s brush leaving her signature on his soul. Blowing out a long, slow, contented breath, Peter glanced up at the jade coloured eyes that gazed warmly back at him from beneath an auburn curtain.

He was still getting used to the hair.

As Olivia fell forward, settling herself over his heart, her head tucked under his chin, Peter conceded that her appearance wasn’t the only thing he was getting used to. Satiated and comfortable, he glided his hands up along her sweat-slicked back, detailing the contours of her spine before tracing lazy circles between her shoulder blades, enjoying the warm blanket of her hair. Olivia nearly purred in response, bonelessly fumbling for the nearest sheet to pull over their quickly cooling bodies.

Chuckling at her fruitless efforts, Peter snagged the comforter and completed the task, tucking them both into a flannel cocoon.

“Never thought I’d see the day I rendered the great Olivia Dunham helpless.”

All he got in response was a snort of derision and her fingers digging into his ribs.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, trying to wriggle deeper into the mattress, away from the onslaught. “Stop it or you’re going on the floor.”

“Nope,” she mumbled into his skin, sliding an arm between the bed and his body, pulling him in tightly as she wound her leg around his. “I’m right where I belong.”

Warmth unfurled in his chest at her words, spreading out along every neuron, soothing his battered heart as its pounding slowed in time with hers beating steadily above him. Stretching forward, he dropped a kiss behind her ear and whispered, “Me too,” surprised to discover that he actually meant it.

After years of running, of feeling out of place, of searching for a life he could slip into, Peter had found everything he was looking for wrapped up in the woman currently curled like a cat around him. In the space of only a few weeks, she’d managed to both destroy his world and become it. The ease with which he’d left her behind shamed him now in the bright light of hindsight. He’d been so occupied with nursing his anger and discovering the hard way that you truly could never go home again that she’d had to risk her life to show him where that home really lay.

Pressing a lingering kiss over his heart, eyelashes fluttering kisses of their own along his skin, Olivia shifted and settled into the crook of his arm. As sleep tugged at his senses, Peter couldn’t help but smile.

_‘I could get used to this.’_

The racket of breaking glass and a scuffle dragged him rudely from his slumber with a gasp. Stretching lazily, Peter turned, searching for his bed mate. He met air instead, scrambling gracelessly as he fought to keep from tumbling to the floor. Arms flailing, he righted himself, sitting up carefully in the old wooden desk chair and sucking in a couple of deep breaths as his heart rate settled back to something resembling normal.

Damn his subconscious.

One little kiss and he was already picking out china patterns.

He really wanted to hate her, wanted to despise her for everything she’d done, everything she stood for. She’d lied to him. They all had, but he’d come to anticipate it from everyone else. It was Olivia’s deception that truly stung. It wasn’t even really the lie that bothered him. It was that she’d made him expect more, made him want to stay, want to care and use words like ‘family’. She’d restarted his heart only to break it.

He’d embraced his fury when he figured out the truth, feeding it the moment he’d woken up in that hospital, building the flame until it was white hot within his soul, burning all his bridges and leaving him once again alone. Then he had run as far as he could and when it wasn’t far enough, he’d jumped, leaving this world, her world, behind. Through the red haze of anger, the choice to leave had been easy, but when the smoke had cleared, all that was left was emptiness and no way back.

Seeing his mother had helped, her tender touch a much-needed balm to his heart, but still, the hole remained. So he’d quickly set to building walls, shoring up his soul with barriers of resentment and righteous indignation, but then he’d heard her voice, her voice from her world, and it had rocked his foundation to the core. Four simple words had finished the job, striking straight though his shields and tying his heart to hers more strongly than ever before.

_‘You belong with me.’_

Now she was running, retreating back behind the impassive mask of Special Agent. At least, he assumed that was what she was doing. He hadn’t really seen that much of Olivia since she’d dragged him back to the only home he’d ever really known.

Granted, they’d only returned to this universe a little over 24 hours ago, but after the glimpse she’d given him of what really lay beneath that mask, Peter yearned to see more, to make up for lost time and hold on tight to what he was sure was his last second chance. However, after a quick debrief with Broyles, Olivia had rebuffed his attempts to get her alone, pleading exhaustion and disappearing for home as soon as they’d returned to Boston.

Sighing, Peter heaved himself up out of the chair, wincing as his muscles protested the movement after being cramped into the confines of the unforgivingly uncomfortable furniture. The part of him that was still licking the wounds born from Walter and Olivia’s deception taunted him with the possibility that this too was a lie, that she’d said whatever he’d needed to hear to get him to return for the greater good, to save the world, but he knew better. She’d meant it. He had felt it in the achingly careful way her lips had moved against his own, like he was a dream and she’d been afraid that one wrong move would wake her up.

No, this was just classic Olivia avoidance. He decided to give her some time. If there was one thing he understood about Olivia Dunham, it was that she didn’t share herself lightly and she’d just laid herself bare. Peter was sure she needed a chance to regroup, to regain the control she so desperately clung to and he was willing to give her that time, just not enough time to forget.

The bustle outside the door suddenly increased in volume. Another glass shattered followed by muffled words that sounded suspiciously like, “Don’t eat the test tubes.”

Concerned, Peter peeked out into the lab and was met with a sight that was both exasperating and strangely comical. Gene had apparently escaped her stall and was making a break for it, but not without sampling some of the lab supplies on the way. Walter was simultaneously trying to rescue glassware and get a grip on the Holstein’s halter. The cow was having none of it, however, whipping her head back and sidling away from him every time he got close to getting a grip on the situation.

Chuckling, Peter stepped up to help, coming around the increasingly frantic bovine and herding her back towards her stall. Walter quickly picked up on Peter’s plan and joined his son in cutting off the cow’s escape route. With nowhere to go, she finally admitted defeat, letting Walter slide his hand through her halter. Slowly and calmly, he led Gene back into her stall and Peter swung the gate shut.

Back in familiar surroundings, the cow decided to show her appreciation, drawing a sloppy tongue across Peter’s exposed hand. He couldn’t help but recoil at the warm sticky sensation, quickly swiping the back of his fingers over his pants, trying desperately to clean them of cow saliva.

“Gene,” Walter admonished. “No licking.”

Peter couldn’t stem the laugh that had built in his throat. “Looks like Gene was making a bid for greener pastures.”

Walter smiled, savouring a rare father-son moment before his shattered mind remembered that Peter was technically not his son and he had no right to be savouring anything. His face fell as the tension that hung between them stretched a little thinner. Fear clouded his eyes as he gazed warily at the younger man.

“I don’t know what happened,” he stammered, suddenly afraid that he’d angered Peter somehow. “I simply turned away for a moment and … I believe that Gene has learned how to manipulate the locking mechanism and … I’m sorry if we disturbed you and-“

“Walter, stop.” Peter dropped a hand to the older man’s shoulder, shocked when he flinched away as if he’d been burned.

Walter continued to ramble, quickly becoming incoherent and increasingly distressed. Despite all attempts to preserve his resentment toward the man who’d essentially kidnapped him all those years ago, Peter couldn’t stem the wave of sympathy that crowded his chest as he watched a now broken Walter flounder. When Astrid had filled him in on what had really happened 25 years ago, Peter’s haze of anger had cleared ever so slightly. It was far from gone, but he couldn’t help the tiny spark of gratitude that had lit within him when he realized what Walter had done to save his life, both as a child and now. All was not forgiven, but he wasn’t completely adverse to the idea either.

“Hey,” Peter whispered firmly, grasping Walter’s shoulders and ducking his head to meet the older man’s glassy eyes. “Walter, it’s okay. I’m not mad.”

When he got no immediate response, Peter clasped his erstwhile father’s hands tightly within his own. “Walter, snap out of it. I’m not going to leave,” he said, again allaying the fear he knew ate at the elder Bishop like a cancer.

The fog slowly cleared and light crept into the grey eyes staring back at him.

“Peter?”

“It’s fine, Walter,” Peter soothed. “Gene’s not going anywhere and neither am I.”

Walter nodded repeatedly, pulling his hands free and looking for something to busy himself with. “Thank you, Peter. I’m sorry,” he whispered before shuffling over to another corner of the lab. Peter wiped a hand tiredly across his face.

They definitely were all going to need a little more time.

***


	2. Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable.

The woman seriously needed to inject some colour into her life.

Agent Olivia Dunham picked through her doppelganger’s closet and drawers searching for something comfortable to wear, preferably something that wasn’t a shade of grey. Her eyes finally landed on a flash of blue - a soft, almost powder blue sweatshirt. It was a far cry from the bold reds and oranges that characterized her wardrobe, but it would have to do. 

Shucking the blazer and white blouse that made up what she’d quickly discovered was her counterpart’s uniform, Liv sighed heartily as the soft fleece slid against her skin. This was much better. Discarding her no-nonsense trousers on the bed, she traded them in for a pair of grey yoga pants before making a bee-line to the kitchen, intent on settling her increasingly uneasy stomach with a decent meal. 

Espionage had never really been one of her strong suits and now, only two days in, she was already exhausted. It was one thing to pretend to be someone else entirely, but this... she wasn’t even sure what to call this mind-warp she was currently living in. In all honesty, the whole thing was freaking her out just a little. She felt like Alice, gone through the looking glass, living a life that had taken a ninety degree turn from everything she knew. 

  
The strangest things were familiar. Sure there were faces she knew; it had taken a concerted effort not to address Agent Broyles as Colonel when he’d instructed to her take a few days to recover and catch up on her paperwork. However, it was little things that haunted her, like the cache of butterscotch candies she’d found, as expected, in the bottom drawer of her desk, e-mail passwords, voices passing in the hallway, the scent of the quilts surrounding her as she slept. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the whole damn mess.

She’d been worried about blowing her cover that first day in the office. Liv was gregarious by nature and she had been concerned that if her twin had a similar work situation, negotiating the ins and outs of their camaraderie would be like navigating a minefield. She was flying solo and she was flying blind, so it had been with some trepidation that she’d walked into the Boston Federal Building yesterday. 

The fear had quickly dissipated when she’d realized that it was unlikely her coworkers would notice anything wrong, because it soon became apparent that they were unlikely to notice her at all. This universe’s Olivia Dunham was as far as she could tell, a very solitary woman. The distance was almost palpable, a living force field that held her colleagues well beyond arm’s length. 

While it was a lucky break for someone trying to skate below the radar, Liv had found it unsettling. She wasn’t used to having so much time alone in her head, and it made it hard to focus. She had yet to receive her final orders, having been told to simply blend in and perform reconnaissance. It was a relatively simple task, but one that left her with too much time to think. Without the distraction of life or death decisions, it was becoming harder and harder to keep from wondering about the woman who shared her face, whose life she had invaded. 

Tipping the contents of a container of soup from the deli down the street into a saucepan she’d placed on the stove, Liv hoped that minestrone in this universe was the same as what she was used to. Absently, she reached into the drawer at her left hip for a spoon, only to stop with a start when her hand didn’t come up empty. Eyeing the utensil with a mixture of awe and exasperation, she gave her dinner a distracted stir before turning her attention to her surroundings. 

_‘Don’t be deceived, Olivia. They are monsters in our skin.’_

Taking in the gingham dish towels, decorative candle holders and papers strewn haphazardly over the tiny dining table, Olivia struggled to conjure the image of a monster’s lair. Everything was just too normal, too comfortable and lived-in ... but vaguely lonely. 

It permeated the apartment now that she’d taken the time to acknowledge it, the underlying shadow of isolation that darkened the room. She tried to chalk it up to her own feelings of distance from Frank, from her mom, but it was more than that. A muted ache settled into her heart as though her double’s spirit had taken up residence within its depths, affording a glimpse of the shroud over her world. It was a ridiculous notion and she knew it, but that didn’t make it any easier to shake. 

This new weight bore down on her in the oppressive silence of the kitchen before she finally had to break the inertia. Striding purposefully into the living room, Liv scanned the tables, shelves, the mantle over the fireplace, anywhere, for evidence of a life outside this room, for a reason for how two versions of an image could be so vastly different. They were like two sides of the same coin. Sure, her life back home was filled with danger and stress, but it was also filled with friends, lovers and family. This

Olivia seemed to only have one half of the equation. With anyone else, it would be easy to dismiss as poor coping skills or a pathetic martyr complex, but...

_‘You gotta trust me; I’m you.’_

Despite the Secretary’s caution, Liv was starting to believe her twin’s desperate assertion. The whisper of connection that had teased her mind back in her apartment was coming at her much stronger now and she needed to understand, needed to know where the paths had diverged. 

Her well-trained eyes lit on a box tucked behind some books to the left of the fireplace. Settling herself on the edge of a nearby chair, she pulled the container from its hiding place. Her lips quirked into a hint of a smile as she carefully lifted off the faded and tattered lid, unearthing a veritable treasure trove in her archaeological dig into this Olivia Dunham’s past. She knew that there would be a box like this one, like the one she kept on the top shelf of her linen closet. Few would ever accuse her of being overly sentimental, but she did keep a store of birthday cards, notices, letters and other reminders that there were people out there who cared about her. 

However, the cache she’d just uncovered was nothing like what she kept at home. Sure, there were letters and cards and newspaper clippings, but closer inspection revealed that they were not celebrations of love, but mostly records of loss and hardship, a grim accounting of a life where the rain just refused to let up. 

She did find some bright spots, holding back a surprised laugh when she pulled out an image of a young woman in dress whites that was almost identical to one she had in her own collection. But the cards and keepsakes were outnumbered by obituaries and newspaper clippings chronicling yet another person ripped from her life. Faces she knew, like Charlie and her mother, and faces she could only speculate about smiled up at her from funeral programs. Understanding crept its way through her brain as she realized that it must have been easier for her counterpart to close herself off than rather than deal with the heartache of losing someone else.

‘Who do you have left?’ she mused, thumbing through the pages.

As if in answer to her thoughts, the phone rang, its shrill tone slicing through the heavy silence, kicking her heart into overdrive. Sitting stock still, Olivia held her breath until she felt ridiculous, knowing that the person on the other end of the line had no idea she was there. Finally her mechanical double finished instructing the caller to leave a message and a tiny and impossibly adorable voice dragged the breath right out of her.

“Hi, Aunt Liv!” she chirped, and Olivia’s heart clenched painfully as she realized that she was hearing a ghost, the reflection of the niece she’d never had the chance to meet. She didn’t really register the words, letting the cheerful cadence of the child’s voice wash over her, filling the hole that had been left in her heart when her sister had succumbed to complications seven years ago, taking her baby with her. 

Liv almost jumped for the phone when she realized that the little girl was winding down, suddenly desperate to maintain the connection. However, her training finally kicked in, steeling her heart and checking the knee-jerk reaction. 

With a “‘Kay, bye!” the call clicked off and the apartment was once again plunged into stillness. 

Refocusing on the box in her lap, Liv couldn’t help the tiny bubble of relief knowing that this Olivia wasn’t completely isolated. She sobered quickly, however, remembering that her double was no longer in this world and was likely discovering well and truly what it was like to be alone. 

That thought bothered her more than it should. It wasn’t the first time she’d been responsible for capturing and imprisoning terrorists. If Secretary Bishop was right, that was indeed what her double was, a monster bent on destroying their world. Still, thumbing through the photographs of lives and loves lost, Liv was having a hard time believing the Olivia who had collected these mementos was nothing more than a woman trying to hold onto the one of the only things she had left. 

_“I need to speak to Peter Bishop.”_

Her desperation had been palpable, and the ferocity with which she’d fought had belied her need to find this one man. Hell, she’d crossed universes to track him down which was not usually a terrorist’s goal. Sure, the rift they’d caused had nearly obliterated a large portion of Brooklyn, but Liv didn’t get the impression that destruction was the intended outcome. 

_“He’s in danger here and he needs to understand that.”_

No, it had been a rescue mission, and a backwards one at that. As far as she was concerned, Peter Bishop had been finally rescued after over twenty years. Still, they’d come to take him back, claiming a threat to his life. It made no sense. The prodigal son was finally home, what could possibly be a threat to him now? It would be easy to write off the fear in her counterpart’s eyes as pure delusion, but he’d followed her back to this world seemingly with no argument and appeared intent on staying on the wrong side. 

She was going to be seriously pissed if this whole mess had been caused by a lovers’ quarrel. 

Still, she got the sense that it was both not quite and so much more than that. Unwanted tendrils of doubt snaked their way up her spine, lodging in her brain, and uprooting the certainty that had guided her so far. Shaking her head angrily, Olivia dropped the box to the floor and pushed herself up from the chair. The room wasn’t really big enough for proper pacing, but she gave it her best shot. Having all this time to think was driving her crazy. She did not need to be questioning the motivation of her enemy. She was trained to receive and carry out orders for the benefit of her country and, she supposed now, her universe and she did it well. Now was most definitely not the time to be changing her MO. 

The phone rang again, stilling her feet and focussing her awareness, narrowing it to a fine point as she waited for the caller to reveal themselves. 

“’Livia, it’s me.”

Although she had only a cursory experience with the voice, she recognized it immediately. She sucked in her breath unconsciously and held it, curiosity bubbling irrepressibly just below the surface as she waited for his next words.

A sigh rushed through the tinny connection, followed by, “I’m going to assume you’re not home and not simply ignoring my calls again.”

The length of the pause that followed made her wonder if he’d disconnected the call, then, “Look, I know that ‘weird’ doesn’t even really begin to describe the way things have been since Jacksonville, but I want to you to remember one thing ... I came back. It’s a lot to process, I know. How do you think I’ve been feeling? I mean you knew and you didn’t-“ 

His words trickled away, like his lungs had suddenly cut off his air supply, choking off the rest of the thought. Still holding her breath and stretching her hearing to the edges of its reach, Olivia caught the rasp of a steadying breath hidden within the white noise of the answering machine before Peter managed to push past the wall in his throat.

“Anyway, I came back for a reason and we really need to talk. So, uh, just call me, ‘kay?”

His voice trailed off into a rushed jumble of unintelligible words before the message ended with a click that resounded in the pregnant quiet of the room. 

Blowing out a string of choice curses under her breath, Olivia dropped heavily to the couch, running her hand through her hair as though she could brush away the tangles of this other woman’s life in the middle of which she’d just found herself. 

“Damnit.”

Her heart actually hurt. Between her twin’s desperate plea, Dr. Bell’s sacrifice for whom she assumed had been an old friend and now that damned love letter of a message, she was actually starting to care about these people. The knowledge that one of the people in question was currently locked away never to see the light of day was gnawing at her gut, making her insides roil. This was not supposed to happen. Her mind whirled, desperately wanting to know the whole story, to figure out where in this mess she was supposed to fit. 

Meanwhile, the purely practical half of her brain was frozen in dread because there was no way in hell she was going to convince Peter Bishop that she was the Olivia Dunham he knew and seemingly loved. Her cover would be blown the minute he got her alone and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold him off. 

She needed guidance. She needed her orders so she could complete her mission and get the hell out of here. She had an entire universe to protect. She was on the right side of this... she had to be.

***

Peter’s thumb hovered over the number one button of his cell phone. He’d already tried Olivia’s cell, but after striking out again on her home line, he was tempted to keep alternating between the two phones until she finally had to pick up out of exasperation. 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d attempted to use her temper as the valve to finally release all that was pent up inside of her: fear, frustration, uncertainty. Olivia Dunham didn’t share, at least not without a significant amount of prodding, but this avoidance was becoming a little ridiculous. It had shades of their relationship after they’d returned from Jacksonville and she had been shouldering the incredible burden of his true origins. Peter realized now, with an inkling of dread, that at the time she had likely been terrified that too much time in his presence would wear down her walls and the truth would slip free.

_‘Is there some other earth-shattering revelation she’s neglected to tell me?’_

  
He was being paranoid and he knew it. Peter could understand her wariness. Neither of them were exactly the poster child for stable relationship material and the last person she’d trusted with her heart had run roughshod over her life both before and after his death. While Peter would admit that he and Olivia had been growing closer this past year, the last few weeks had stepped up the timetable dramatically. Considering the Gordian knot of emotions and rationalizations that was his psyche at the moment, Peter could imagine what Olivia was going through. 

For the last seventy-four hours, there had been a constant clash between anger, resentment, relief and gratitude, all roiling within his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He was still a long way from sorting it all out and accepting that family didn’t always have anything to do with genetics or, in this case, physics. 

Walter was being excruciatingly careful around him, keeping his experiments to a minimum, baking cookies and making taffy, instead. Despite the overriding air of domesticity pervading the house these last few days, Peter couldn’t help but notice that his would-be father’s spine was strung tighter than a piano wire. Walter was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for Peter to disappear again. It was a fear, Peter realized now with some small hint of remorse, that had been Walter’s constant companion for the last 25 years. 

A year ago, he would have left anyway, guilt or responsibilities be damned. A year ago, he would have disappeared to some Middle Eastern country and picked up his life where Olivia had so rudely interrupted it. Now, however, the idea of running held no appeal. He’d already tried it and look where it had gotten him, about to become cannon fodder in a war he still didn’t completely understand. 

No, he wanted to stay, and not just because Olivia had given him hope of something beyond the burgeoning friendship he’d come to cherish before this whole mess had cracked open, spilling out over their lives like an oil slick. He wanted to stay because of Walter, and Astrid and even that damned cow his father was so fond of. The betrayal of his own blood had only crystallized his notion that this group of people, this family they’d become, was worth the effort. 

A small explosion from the kitchen rattled the ancient light fixtures in the den where he’d taken refuge. A rather creative invective from Walter followed, and Peter couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged on his lips. Some days it took a lot of effort.   
He hazarded another glance at his cell phone, hoping beyond hope that he’d find a notice of a missed call, something, anything to let him know that she was just as invested in this as he was. The phone merely lay idle on the couch, prompting a long breath of frustration from its owner. 

God, he missed her, had from the moment he’d walked out the front door of the hospital, knowing he was never looking back. He’d wanted nothing more than to leave, to put as much distance between himself and the life he thought he’d known as possible. Still, the ache for her had followed, settling like a splinter in his heart, throbbing with every beat, every step he took further away from her. He’d tried to ignore it, to bury it under the rage and resentment that boiled up from his gut, but in the quieter moments it would flare up into a bright flash of pain that couldn’t be denied. 

Now, with both of them back in the same city ... back in the same universe, all Peter wanted was to ease the sting, to sooth himself with her quiet calm and wrap himself in her strength. He wanted to understand and ultimately forgive. He wanted to slip back into their routine. He wanted to seek out refuge from the chaos and uncertainty that was Walter in the steady peace that came from her presence beside him.   
Eyes once again drifting to his traitorous phone, a decision coalesced within in him. Heaving himself off the couch, he snatched up the device and made for the front door. Snagging his coat and calling a quick “I’m going out,” to Walter and Astrid, Peter jogged down the steps, intent on his destination.

He was done giving her time. 

***

She was nearly there.

Tendrils of awareness rippled out from the swirling mass of her consciousness like eddies in a stream, rushing down corridors, filtering through concrete and glass, warm objects and cold, before echoing back to their origins. Each returning wave danced along her skin, contracting follicles and setting hairs on end, splitting the currents into tiny rivulets that raced along neurons, firing images on the blank screen of her eyelids. 

She’d lost track of time ages ago, but she had noticed that they’d left her in the dark for longer than usual since her ninth visit to the grey room. Each trip had increased in length and intensity. By this last outing, Olivia had figured the techs had cranked the horror factor up to eleven, bombarding her with an endless tableaux of pain and turmoil as they still tried to break her, attempting to unlock secrets she herself was only beginning to wrap her head around.

The cool blackness of her cell was a relief to the hot ache that wracked her body. It soothed the damage and allowed her to re-centre as she sat cross-legged on the unforgiving tile floor. She’d started this ritual after her second bout in the chair, taking advantage of the drugs bathing her cells to hone strengths she only barely knew she had, let alone understood how to wield. Still, she had to try. 

Olivia wondered absently if they were giving up on her, having been unable to wrench any useful information from the iron grip of her mind. She actually hoped they’d forget about her entirely. She was nearly there and just needed a little more time....  
Shifting her attention from the mental map she’d pieced together, Olivia focussed her sights inward. Reaching deep into the darkness of her soul, she stoked the embers of anger which had burned in her gut for as long as she could remember. 

Most days she managed to temper the flame, dampen the glow as each new hurt added fuel to the fire. Most days she could direct the heat, forging tools that had become valuable assets to her job. Today, however, she merely fanned the blaze, coaxing it into a raging inferno that licked out from her core, consuming everything in its path. 

Releasing the reins, she embraced the fury, reveling in the heat that coursed through her veins, lighting up every nerve ending, filling her with a heady power that was both enticingly novel and strangely familiar.

The seeds of her anger ghosted across her mind, flitting behind her eyelids before she tore them down and added them to the pyre: her stepfather who’d ripped away any sense of parental security before she’d torn off his knee-cap with a bullet; a vague collection of friends in high school and college who’d never really understood; her mother who just hadn’t been strong enough; her sister, who just couldn’t say no; Broyles, who had dragged her into this nightmare; Walter who had created it; John, who’d eroded most of the trust she’d so carefully built; Charlie, who’s body snatcher had wiped away the rest and Peter.... The flame burned brighter. Peter had made her want to believe again, made her want to love again, had promised to be there, but she should’ve known that no one ever kept their promises. 

The fury was white hot now, the cells in her body practically dancing within their membranes, the glow that arced across her skin beating back the darkness. Oxygen drained out of the air around her, drawn inexorably to the fire that blazed within her core, building up an almost unbearable pressure behind the cage of her ribs. She could see the event horizon; all she needed was a catalyst. 

Footsteps echoed in the tiny corner of her mind still dedicated to perception, thudding softly behind her tympanum, a subtle, but crucial counterpoint to the frantic beating of her heart. Having finally reached critical mass, all Olivia could do was wait.

Three.

Her heart and lungs stopped and held, aching for release. 

Two.

Eyes opened, irises a beacon in the darkness.

One. 

The doorknob turned and the world went white. 

***


	3. We're Off to See the Wizard

  
The alarms were excruciating, shrill needles of sound that scratched at her ears and tore at her concentration. By the time she’d returned to herself, Olivia was already running, rounding another bend in an endless maze of corridors. The door to her cell, singed and dangling uselessly from its hinges, hid the charred and barely recognizable remains of the unfortunate tech who had come to prep her for their next session. Opening the door had burst the bubble, sending the inferno raging within spilling out into the hallway, crashing like a tidal wave over whatever, or whoever, stood in its way. All that remained of the room was an Olivia-shaped void of pristine white wall, surrounded by blackened and blistered tiles. 

  
Cramped from lack of use and the cocktail of chemicals perfusing her cells, Olivia’s muscles screamed in protest as her bare feet pounded against the unyielding linoleum. Still, she pushed herself forward as fast as possible. The element of surprise was already long gone and her head start would soon be non-existent. 

Careening around one more corner, Olivia came to an abrupt halt at the sight before her, slamming her hand against the cinderblock wall to stop her forward momentum. She’d found the door, but as expected, it was locked, the fingerprint recognition pad glowing like a beacon in the dim light of the eerily empty corridor. 

_‘They should’ve found me by now.’_

The thought made her stomach roll as she frantically tried to figure out her captor’s next move. What was taking them so long? She’d been prepared to fight from the moment she had burst through the door and the delay couldn’t help but leave her wondering if guards were the least of her worries. Then, stretching herself beyond her normal limits, she heard them, heavy, booted footfalls rumbling down the stairs behind the door. The sound was comforting in a twisted sort of way; guards she could handle. 

Eyeing the camera mounted in the corner of the last bend, Olivia conceded that an ambush wasn’t going to be an option. She was going to have to meet them head-on. Steeling herself and wishing she was still wearing her boots, Olivia held her breath, waiting for yet another portal to open. 

She started running the second the heavy door swung inward, revealing the first of three armed agents. Olivia was bearing down on them before they could even sweep their gaze over the room. As they cleared the entryway, she collided solidly with the first over the threshold, catching him around his mid-section in a classic football tackle. As they tumbled sideways to the ground, Olivia made a grab for his rifle, wrenching the weapon from his shock-slackened grip. 

She’d killed the second agent before they hit the ground, a clean shot to the throat. His colleague’s fate was messier. The impact of the floor jostled her arm and the second bullet zinged through her assailant’s leg, drawing a sharp cry from beneath the helmet and sending the man reeling away from the scuffle on the floor. 

Having recovered from the tackle, the first agent flung Olivia off, sending her unprotected back into the concrete wall and jarring the rifle from her hands. Stars exploded behind her eyes as she struggled to draw a breath and ascertain where her attacker was. A cross cut to her jaw sent her sprawling to the floor before her vision had managed to clear. Rolling instinctively onto her back, Liv swung out her leg, catching the agent square in the groin. Taking full advantage of her lucky strike, she heaved herself up into a crouching position and yanked the rifle back before spinning it in her hands and thrusting the butt hard into the man’s solar plexus. A second vicious blow across the temple sent him to the ground, unconscious. Clutching her weapon tightly, Olivia pushed off from the linoleum anxious to get going when a harsh “Freeze!” made her do just that.

Dropping back to the ground, she gazed up over another rifle barrel into the pained eyes of what she figured to be a rookie. The fear behind the forced steely gaze was unmistakable. 

“Drop your weapon!”

The voice cracked and the agent swayed on his injured leg. 

She hesitated. One quick move and she could dispatch him with a bullet to the brain, but she just couldn’t seem to bring herself to do it. 

“Drop it!”

The voice was getting more frantic and backup could be heard closing in. He was either going to kill her with an accidental pull of the trigger, or reinforcements would, at the very least, drag her back to another cell. None were particularly attractive options, and Olivia’s mind searched desperately for an alternative. Suddenly a plan coalesced, and she did as she was told, holding out her hands in surrender. 

It didn’t take much to draw up the fire again. Closing her eyes for a moment, Olivia stirred the cauldron that roiled within, focussing the intense heat into the palms of her hands. Looking back up at the agent, she could see that the mask had crumbled, terror front and centre in his young eyes. 

“On your knees!”

She complied only for a moment before rising up on her haunches and fixing her gaze with his. He backed up unconsciously, thrusting the gun forward.

“I said on your knees!”

Olivia kept coming, the soft blue glow dancing at her fingertips barely discernible even in the low light of the corridor. Then, like a cobra, she struck, shooting up from the ground, reaching out and laying her hands on the agent’s face, the only unprotected part of his body. The shock nearly sent her backwards, but she held on, feeling the sickening sensation of skin sizzling under her touch. The young man shrieked in pain and tumbled away, staggering blindly for a moment before fainting from the shock. Her body still coursing with energy, Olivia forced herself to regroup and placed her still glowing hand on the fingerprint recognition pad. The tablet flashed blindingly for a moment before sparks shot out from the locking mechanism of the door, popping open her means of escape. Stepping over the threshold, she was met with the first step in a series that seemed to go on forever, zigzagging up into the shadows. There was only one way to go. Carefully ignoring the carnage she’d just wrought, Olivia took a deep breath and started up the stairs.

Hot air gushing past her lips in rough pants, Olivia pushed herself up flight after flight, fighting fiercely to stay focussed on her goal. The wake of her outburst left her weary, synapses firing uncontrollably as she came down from the immense high. The haze it left in her mind made it hard to concentrate. She kept slipping back to the corridor, the smell of burnt flesh and the sound of horrified screams twisting the knot of nausea and guilt that sat heavily in her stomach. Now was not the time for remorse, she ruthlessly reminded herself, willing her body and mind into submission as her feet slapped against the steps. It was truly survival of the fittest and hesitation was deadly... she’d have to deal with the costs later. 

Finally, she reached the top, bursting through the doors without forethought then pinning herself flat against the outside wall in anticipation of snipers. The sirens sounded different outside, a droning wail in the salty, fog-laden air instead of the strident ringing of inside the compound. 

Heaving a deep sigh, Liv scanned the area. She was sheltered by the main building, safe for the moment pressed into the shadows of the pale white walls. Searchlights passed relentlessly over the damp ground ahead of her, their brilliant beams cutting through the heavy darkness like giant light sabres. Taking a few steps forward and glancing up behind her, beyond the first storey of limestone, her heart sank as she caught sight of unmistakable sandalled feet and folds of a copper robe rising up into the night.

She just had to be on an island. 

Panic bubbled up like bile in her throat and Olivia swallowed determinedly, calling up images of her sister, her niece and Peter. Surrender was not an option. There had to be a way out. The footsteps rumbling up the stairwell behind the door and pounding over the wet pavement off to her right were almost on top of her, shouts of ‘Stop!’ adding to the din. As soon as the latest shaft of light passed, Olivia dashed out into the darkness, making a beeline for a copse of trees, hoping to buy some time until she could figure out her next move.

The fresh fragrance of wet leaves was a welcome relief after the stale air of her cell. Sucking great gulps of oxygen into her lungs, she fought to subdue the tremors that still wracked her body. Her newfound skills, while useful, were taking their toll, draining her already compromised reserves. The shivering was constant now, tiny ripples of energy along her skin, a live wire waiting to make a connection. Olivia flattened herself as tightly as she could against the thick trunk of a towering linden, listening intently through the clamour of the sirens and gathering wind for the shouts of the agents searching for her. 

They were getting closer.

Icy fingers of dread closed over her heart, sending her pulse skyrocketing as her mind plagued her with memories of the dark, the cold and the grey room. She couldn’t go back. She wouldn’t go back.

But how the hell was she supposed to go forward?

With a herculean effort, she corralled her racing thoughts, forcing the terror that had been clawing at her soul back into its dark place in the pit of her stomach. She needed to focus. 

She needed to think. 

Peering through the gloom before her, Olivia stretched her senses, ripples slipping around the densely-packed tree trunks until she reached the shore. Inky waves lapped rhythmically against the hull of a supply ship docked just outside the tree line. Anticipation crested, a warm breaker washing back the fear and filling her again with purpose. The goal was clear now. It was a long shot, but it was the only option.

Pushing off from her shelter, Olivia stumbled ahead into the darkness, limbs heavy, but heart resolute. Rocks and thorns dug into her unprotected feet, drawing blood, but she’d long since stopped noticing the pain. Forcing her way through a dense tangle, she dragged her hair out of her eyes and surveyed her progress. The starless sky opened up ahead of her, trees giving way into a small clearing in the middle of the woodlot. 

The dull rumble of heavy footfalls was getting closer, the crackling of branches betraying their attempt at a silent approach.

Suddenly, a tiny, red beam pierced the blackness, slicing through the air just inches from her left ear. The laser sight of an assault rifle, it was quickly joined by others cutting angles through the shadows on all sides of her. There was only one way out and she wasn’t sure she’d survive it. 

Moving to the centre of the clearing, Olivia crouched low, readying herself for the inevitable. 

The dam already breached, fury flowed easily now, fuelled by shear frustration and pain. She just couldn’t seem to catch a break. She raged against the helplessness they’d reduced her to, against the fear they’d nurtured within her, the monsters they’d dragged out from under her bed, and the depths she’d been forced to achieve. Eyes narrowed, she conjured up Walternate’s image, drawing on his smug smirk for inspiration, stoking the fire ever higher.

Then, another emotion slipped unexpectedly through the maelstrom into the eye of the storm. Walternate’s stony countenance was supplanted by Peter, his boyish smile shining against the dark canvas of the night. Love flared brightly within her core, love and determination, pushing her energy levels beyond anything she’d felt before. Her body hummed, neurons firing like dry lightning in a summer storm. Her head throbbed, and every atom of her body vibrated with latent power. 

‘There are more atoms in the human body than there are stars in the sky.’

She was going to come apart, a supernova of uncontrolled emotions. 

Ruthlessly, she yanked back on the reins, tempering the storm, dialing things down and fervently hoping she could control the blast. She’d come too far for it to end in a veritable blaze of glory. 

They were upon her now, shouts registering dimly through the roaring in her ears, lasers bouncing in front of her like menacing fireflies. A muzzle flash lit up the night for a fraction of a second and Olivia turned to face the bullet as it grazed her shoulder, the pain lost in the tempest of sensation that clamoured for release. 

She was out of time.

The shockwave rattled Lady Liberty’s torch, a crushing white wave searing away the darkness, cutting down everything within range. 

The clearing, now double in size, smouldered silently, pockets of flames casting an orange glow over the dimness. Raising her head slowly, Olivia surveyed the damage. 

Nothing moved. 

For a moment, stillness reigned; even the sirens seemed to quiet in deference to the scale of the devastation. Blinking myopically, trying to clear the fuzzy spots from her vision, Olivia sat cross-legged at ground zero, working to gather herself together. Guilt and pain threatened to crush her where she sat, but she needed to shake it off, needed to keep going, needed to move ... now.

Stumbling weakly to her feet, she picked her way through the smoking remains of trees and men, disappearing once again into the darkness. 

The shore was in sight, the dock light cutting through the mist and illuminating the small ship rocking invitingly in its berth. Crouched on the edge of the forest, Olivia weighed her options, scanning the vessel for points of weakness. 

Suddenly a familiar click sounded behind her right ear. Rocking back on her heels, Olivia met the hard press of a muzzle against her temple.

Everything stopped. 

“Freeze, bitch.”

Olivia sucked in a painful breath as she recognized the voice.

“Charlie?” she whispered, taking care not to move.

The unyielding metal dug deeper into her skin. 

“I don’t know who or what you are, but you sure as hell ain’t Livvy and you sure as hell don’t know me.”

He all but spat the words into her ear, but the edge of uncertainly in his voice was the opening she needed. She remembered that feeling all too well. Taking a calculated risk, Olivia eased forward, separating herself from the gun, and turned around slowly, hands in the air.

The trigger remained unmoved.

“No, I’m not your Liv, but I was Charlie’s partner once.” She hesitated, trying to figure out how to make him understand something that had taken her months to wrap her head around. 

“Waltern... the Secretary took him away from me, replaced him with this thing that had left me no choice-” Olivia’s voice was barely above a whisper as the last of her reserves seeped from her body. “I had to put a bullet in my best friend’s head, knowing he’d already been dead for weeks.”

In the muted light from the dock filtering through the canopy, his face was impenetrable. The gun never wavered. Still, he’d made no move to stop her yet. Pushing her luck, she continued. 

“I don’t want that for you, Charlie, and I don’t want to hurt you.” Faint flashes of blue rippled along her fingertips, an absolute last resort. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to go home.”

The last few words escaped in a rush, pouring out of her along with the rest of her strength. She’d run out of ideas, had no more contingency plans and with her own body reaching the end of its rope, the suffocating blanket of resignation wrapped around her, blotting out anything else. 

Then his voice broke through the fog. 

“Why are you even here?”

Olivia nearly laughed at his question, a million different answers boiling down into one simple reason.

“To rescue Peter Bishop.” Because saving a world without him in it would’ve been pointless. 

His laugh was a humourless bark, quickly lost in the rustling of leaves overhead as the wind picked up off the bay. “You’ve got it backwards, lady. It’s your side that Peter Bishop needs rescuing from.”

He was getting impatient; she could see it in his stance. It was a look both familiar and foreign and her heart ached with all that she’d lost in the last few years. Darting her gaze to the muzzle of the gun for a moment, she then glanced up and snagged his eyes, her own wild with desperation. She had one last chance.

“Look, Charlie, we don’t have much time. You need to understand that your boss is not a good man. As long as he’s around, neither Peter, nor my world, is safe. I don’t think any of us are safe. Our side ... we don’t want this war and the only way to stop it is if you let me go back. I know you think I’m lying, that I’m a terrorist just trying to save my own skin. I’m sorry for everything-” Tears lodged in her throat, cutting off her words as she tried to convey the shame she felt for what she’d done to survive thus far. Swallowing painfully, Olivia forced the rest of her entreaty through her lips. “I know it’s a lot to take in: alternate universes, shape-shifters, what I can ... do, another you, another me. I know you’re feeling obsolete, but you’re not ... you’re not. You could never be obsolete, Charlie, you’ve always had good instincts. You could always read people.”

Sucking in a breath and taking a tentative step backwards, swaying dangerously on her feet, Olivia continued, “I need you to read me now, Charlie. I need you to see that I’m telling the truth. I need your help ... please.”

Heart pounding viciously in her ears, Olivia held her breath, watching her words sink in, hoping beyond hope that this time she would get through. Cutting her eyes back to the gun still pointed at her, she let herself dare to hope when she saw the muzzle waiver.

Then it went off.

***

His eyes traced the serifs of the brass letter ‘A’ for the sixth time as he tried to will his knuckles into finally making contact with the wood. 

All of the resolve and hope that had propelled him forward as he’d taken the streets of Boston at an alarming speed had seeped out of him once he’d made it to her door. Peter felt pathetic. He hadn’t been to Olivia’s place all that often, but he had never felt uncomfortable there before. She’d risked her life crossing universes to save him. That alone should be a pretty good indication that he would be welcome in her home. 

After all, she had him on speed-dial.

Swaying closer to the door, Peter caught a hint of vanilla drifting up from within the apartment. For one sweet instant, he was swept back into that heady moment in the condo his father had set up for him. Even dressed in another’s clothes and her hair freshly coloured, Peter had still been able to detect the scent he’d long ago associated with Olivia. For the first time since he’d come home, he had felt safe and normal, the warmth of her body anchoring him after feeling adrift for as long as he could remember. 

With only a few hours before they’d had to rendezvous at the opera house, their time together had been short, punctuated by apologies, brief tears and even briefer kisses. The uncomfortable swelling of his heart within his chest when she’d informed him that Walter had come with her had been a surprise to Peter. He’d thought the anger that he had felt for the man who had posed as his father for most of his life was immutable. He’d sworn that he’d never forgive the man for stealing him away from the life he’d been supposed to live. Still, as he marvelled at the lengths Walter and Olivia had gone to find him, Peter couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he’d been living in the right universe after all.

Now, standing outside Olivia Dunham’s apartment, Peter figured it was time he grew a set and owned his choices. He’d chosen his side and now it was time to move forward. Sucking in a deep breath, he finally knocked, the three sharp raps startling in the dry, still air of the corridor.

There was no answer.

Just his luck, all the angst and soul-searching and she wasn’t even home. 

His shoulders sagged with a mixture of relief and disappointment. Blowing out a thin stream of air through pursed lips, he took a step back, reluctant to break the tenuous connection and walk away. Then he heard it, soft footfalls just inside the door.

He glanced up just as a shadow passed across the peep-hole.

Leaning back towards his goal, Peter called her bluff. “C’mon, ‘Livia. I know you’re in there. You can’t keep avoiding me forever.”

After a beat, the click of a latch sliding out of its housing set his heart racing. 

The door swung open, revealing a sight that was becoming all too familiar. Obviously tired, Olivia eyed him warily, body strung tight despite the fatigue dragging her down. Pulling out the big guns, he flashed her his most charming grin. 

“What? You’ll cross universes to save my life, but you won’t let me into your apartment?”

He watched her carefully; the armour was back and his heart sank. Just as he had feared, he’d left her too long and she’d rebuilt her walls even stronger than before. Frustration and sadness warred within him and he forced them both back down into their cages. He needed to tread carefully. 

Holding his breath, Peter waited, rocking almost imperceptibly on the balls of his feet until a smile tugged at her lips while something indefinable passed behind her eyes and she took a step back, sweeping her arm out in a universal gesture. 

“Come on in.”

***

Olivia fought back another bout of nausea as the boat crested yet one more wave. Rolling backwards with the momentum, the sharp sting of her injured shoulder being crushed against the metal siding provided a distraction from the queasiness within her stomach. 

She still couldn’t quite believe that she was alive. 

She’d been sure that the muzzle flash of Charlie’s gun would be the last thing she ever saw, an ironic reversal of roles from where she’d found herself several months earlier. However, the impact never came. Instead the bullet disappeared over her head, plunging them deeper into darkness. A glance over her shoulder confirmed her suspicions; the main dock light had been dispatched.

An overwhelming tide of gratitude and pain had roiled within her, threatening to swell her chest to bursting. Turning back to the face she’d once known as well as her own, Olivia hadn’t been able to keep the tears out of her eyes as the ramifications of what he’d just done became clear. 

There were apparently some universal constants and Charlie Francis always had her back.

Her ‘thank you’ had lodged behind a painful lump in her throat and he was already moving before she had been able to form the words. With a firm hand, Charlie directed her to sit, muttering a rueful, “You damn well better be right about this,” before disappearing into the darkness. 

From behind a veil of foliage Olivia had watched as Charlie intercepted the approaching agents and the crew from the supply ship, leading them off on a proverbial wild goose chase. She’d taken advantage of the diversion to ensconce herself in the emergency supplies compartment at the vessel’s stern where she currently resided. 

The silence had seemed endless, cramped in the tiny space. Her heart had pounded in her ears, pumping the blood relentlessly through arteries and veins, the graze in her left shoulder throbbing in time with the persistent beat. Every second had held on a pause expecting to be discovered, hoping the ship would pull away from the dock.

Finally, approaching footsteps had set her teeth on edge, every fibre in her body taut and ready to fight, heat gathering almost unwillingly along her fingers. Then, a familiar voice had washed over her through the thick metal lid. Charlie’s raspy “You’re all clear; proceed as scheduled,” had released all the tension in her body, drawing tears of relief from her tired eyes. Soon after, the engines had rumbled to life and hope dared to spark within her heart. 

Now, all she could do was wait, wedged in between coils of rope, buoys, PFDs and safety blankets, as the ship chugged its way through the bay, headed hopefully for lower Manhattan. 

Darkness crowded in on her again, the stale air stubbornly refusing to fill her lungs, punishing her for the depths she’d sunken to in her desperate bid for freedom. She’d been single-minded, ruthless, and very nearly out of control. She’d been reduced to instinct, intent on the single goal of survival. For a moment, she recalled the shape-shifters and their stop-at-nothing tactics and it sickened her. 

She was no better. 

Shuddering quietly in the storage locker, Olivia despaired over what she’d let herself become over the last few hours. She was adrift in the storm, letting herself be swept along with the unrelenting tide she’d released when she had first drawn of the fire within her. Desperately, she cast about for an anchor, a stabilizing force to help her balance the chaos threatening to consume her from within.

_‘’Livia, if you need me, I’m here.’_

Peter’s words from so long ago became a beacon cutting through the blackness that enveloped her soul, easing the pain and settling the seas just a little. Eyes closed against the dark, Olivia conjured up his presence, his warm breath ghosting over her lips, strong arms soothing the tremors that continued to wrack her spent body.

_‘You belong with me.’_

As clichéd as it sounded, it was the truth, one Olivia had had driven painfully home when she’d discovered that Peter had chosen to leave her behind. After the disaster that was John, Olivia had never expected anyone to find their way into her heart again, at least not so quickly. However, Peter had slipped in when she wasn’t looking, quietly holding her steady when her world was literally turned inside out with the discovery of Cortexiphan, alternate universes and shape-shifters.   
It would be easy to dismiss their connection as a result of shared trauma and latent attraction, but Olivia had known for a long time that it went much deeper than that. 

_‘This isn’t just an assignment, is it?’_

Even her double had seen it. Peter may have started out as a means to an end, but over the last year he’d somehow become her centre, and losing him had torn apart the heart she’d only just managed to rebuild. 

It frightened her, this need for him. She’d always prided herself on her independence, had never required a man to define her and she sure as hell didn’t want to start now. With Peter, though, it wasn’t about who she was when she was with him, but what they could be together. She’d never wanted anything more than to discover that potential. She’d dared to hope when his arm had snaked around her waist, pulling her tightly to his body as his lips had slid solidly against her own. For one brilliant moment, she’d believed that they would be okay. Then it had all gone to hell... again.

She had to find her way home.

There had been no sounds to indicate any movement on the deck for quite some time. Sucking in a steadying breath, Olivia carefully lifted the lid of her hiding place and chanced a glance outside. The World Trade Center’s twin towers dominated the skyline, looming like parapets over the fortress of Manhattan. That tiny flicker of hope burned just a little bit brighter. There was only one person who could help her now. 


	4. Are You a Good Witch or a Bad Witch?

Peter had never seen Olivia Dunham quite this jumpy before. They stood in a silent standoff in her living room, eyeing each other warily over the couch. He would’ve laughed if the whole situation didn’t feel so pathetic. 

One step forward...

Needing to break the stalemate, Peter finally spoke.

“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”

Olivia didn’t quite suppress the start at his question before seeming to force herself to relax.

“Um, sure, what do you want?”

Peter smiled encouragingly. They were apparently going to have to do this one baby step at a time. “I’ll have whatever you’re havin’.”

She finally returned his smile before cutting through the cloud of awkwardness that stretched between them and all but escaping into the kitchen.

Peter released the air from his lungs as the tenuous connection snapped with her disappearance around the corner. He contemplated following her, needing to maintain whatever link he could now that he was back within her orbit. Only a few days ago he’d convinced himself that he never wanted to see her again; now he didn’t want to let her out of his sight. The emotional see-saw was something he was still trying to get a grip on and her presence had always managed to steady him.

However, her skittishness kept him in check. The last thing she needed was his hovering. The walls were going back up and if he pushed too hard, he might destroy what little progress they’d made. Instead, he circled the couch, slipping off his coat and draping it over the back before settling into the worn cushions. It was presumptuous, he knew, but he was taking a calculated risk. She was getting him a drink, after all. 

Olivia sagged against the counter, running a distracted hand roughly through her hair as she waited for the water in the kettle to come to a boil. A tiny, weak part of her, a part she normally kept firmly locked away, wished that she could hide out in the kitchen indefinitely, at least until he got the hint and took off. Thing is, while she didn’t know Peter Bishop, she guessed that he wasn’t the type to give up easily. Sighing, she rummaged through the cabinets next to the sink. Apparently although she and her doppelgänger may be of like minds when it came to spoons, they didn’t keep their tea in the same place. 

Olivia had been hoping to put off this meeting a little longer. She had wanted to delay it until she was more secure in her position, until she had a better lay of the land and a thorough understanding of her mission.   
Finally locating her quarry, Olivia opened the box, paying little attention to the flavour, and dropped a tea bag each into the pair of mugs waiting on the counter. The kettle on the stove started to rattle softly as the water within began to simmer. She was running out of time. 

Frantically, she scanned her memory, searching for every tiny detail about her double’s relationship with the man currently waiting for her on the other side of the thin wall. They were obviously close, but if her interpretation of the desperation that had clouded the other Olivia’s features, and the cautious hope that currently coloured Bishop’s eyes was correct, they weren’t lovers. Still, she doubted that she would be able to fool him for long. 

Yanking the kettle off the stove before the rattling could erupt into a whistle, Olivia carefully filled each of the mugs, taking a moment to savour the spicy aroma wafting up from the saturated tea leaves. Her analytical mind ran through scenario after scenario, trying to devise the most logical course of action. However, after evaluating every tactical approach she could think of, Olivia came up blank. This was way beyond her training. 

Scooping out the bags, she dropped them unceremoniously into the sink before sliding the mugs off the counter. Sucking in a deep breath, Olivia schooled her features and braced for the worst.

Glancing up as she returned from the kitchen, Peter’s instinctual smile dissolved into a puzzled frown as Olivia handed him a mug before perching herself on the opposite end of the sofa. Sniffing the contents experimentally, he eyed her quizzically over the rim.

“What?” she asked, eyes darting around the room, trying to deflect his attention. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

Peter blinked sharply as a wave of déjà vu hit him right between the eyes, dragging him back over to the other side, to another Olivia. Forcibly shaking it off, he refocused, smiling through the fragrant steam.

“Trying something new, Dunham? I wasn’t gone that long, was I?”

Olivia froze for a just a moment and he took the time to really look at her. She seemed different and it wasn’t just the hair. She held herself differently, carefully, as though waiting for the next shoe to drop. He supposed that he couldn’t really blame her after the roller coaster of the last few days ... the last few weeks. Walter was behaving much the same way, the tiptoeing on eggshells that came from an intense fear of loss. 

Her words, raspy and careworn, broke through his reverie. “Yeah, well. I needed something calming, what with everything that happened.”

She was watching him cautiously and pain lanced his heart as he realized just how much damage they’d caused each other. The family he’d grown to rely on, to care about, was in tatters at their feet, the fragile trust they’d built between them over the last year in pieces. He wanted to lay the blame squarely on Walter, perhaps also on Olivia, but he just couldn’t seem to do it. He’d meant it when he had said that he was trying to see things their way and while the wounds were still fresh, his perspective was slowly shifting. Like light through a prism, his resentment and hurt came back at him altered, reflecting the spectrum of dread, helplessness, care and need that he imagined had driven Olivia and Walter to hold onto their secret. 

_‘Keep your people close. Take care of the people you care about.’_

His erstwhile mother’s words were a motto both he and Olivia had come to share over the course of their time together. Replaying the last few months, it dawned on him that Olivia had truly lived by that credo, keeping him close the only way she’d known how to at the time. 

While the woman who’d raised him may not have been his real mother, she’d still imparted some sound advice, and even after all the lies and deception they were still his people ... she was his people; if they were ever going to rebuild a semblance of what they’d once had, one of them had to take the first step.

She’d crossed universes to save his life; the least he could do was be honest. 

Placing his mug on the table, Peter edged closer, reaching out a tentative hand. She didn’t recoil and he took it as a sign of encouragement. Bridging the gap, he traced his fingers over the delicate bones of her wrist. 

“There was a moment there when I hated you.”

She jerked back from his touch and he felt her absence keenly. 

Damn it. He didn’t mean to be that honest.

Risking a glance into her eyes, Peter was relieved but a little surprised to find only confusion clouding her irises. He’d been expecting worse. He quickly marshalled his thoughts, needing to elaborate before he dug himself in any deeper. 

“I mean ... I can understand Walter lying to me for twenty-five years, even my mother, but you.... When I woke up in that hospital and everything became clear, I realized that I had to glimmer when you looked at me. Still, there you were smiling like nothing was wrong, like I didn’t just wake up and realize my entire life was a sham. I couldn’t take it. I never thought you’d be the one to lie to me, ‘Livia.”

His expectant gaze bored into her as she frantically searched for something to say, grasping at anything that wouldn’t betray her position.

‘I need to you take me to Peter Bishop.’

Her twin’s desperate plea resonated within her soul, and for a moment everything - this whole mess- made sense.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, wondering if he’d ever know just how much. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

The air between them crackled with anticipation and her heart thumped loudly in her chest. Still holding his gaze, Olivia mentally catalogued the location of her weapons. She had a feeling things were about to go downhill fast.

Then, Bishop literally deflated before her eyes, anger bleeding out of him, his face awash with exhaustion. Olivia blew out a breath in response, shoulders sagging with relief. She must have said the right thing.

“I know,” he sighed, running a hand over his face. “I get that now. This thing we had ... have, a year ago it would’ve sent me packing the first chance I got. Then, one day, I suddenly couldn’t imagine my life without you in it. You, Walter, Astrid, you’ve become the only family I’ve ever really had and now with my real father wanting to turn me into the destroyer of universes, you truly are all I have now. But we’re a long way from normal, or at least whatever our version of it is. It’s going take time before I can trust again.”

The vice which had settled itself around Olivia’s heart earlier in the evening drew tighter, cutting off her breath as this man she would never really know laid himself bare in front of her. Guilt churned sickeningly in her stomach and she had to break the connection before he breached her defences. She wasn’t sure just how much longer she could hide in plain sight. He didn’t let her get far, tipping her head back towards him with gentle pressure under her chin. She was well and truly trapped. 

“The day you walked into my life, Liv, I had no idea just how much you were going to turn my world upside-down.” A watery chuckle broke through his words as he traced a delicate path up along her jaw-line. “But you’ve given me everything: a purpose, a home ... hope.”

He leaned closer still, his fingers now toying with the delicate wisps of hair that framed her ear. “You told me that I belong with you. I need to know that you meant it. I want to understand, to forgive you. I want to trust you, but you have to meet me halfway.”

His sea-coloured eyes were luminous in the dim glow of the table lamp, open and seeking, and the fist inside her chest clenched harder still, her heart breaking ever so slightly for the woman who should’ve been hearing these words. The fingers in her hair tugged her closer, his eyes searching hers for answers she could never give. If he looked too hard it would all be over. 

Letting her eyelids slip closed, she allowed herself to be drawn in the only direction she could go at the moment, trying desperately not to recoil as his lips slid over hers. 

Something was off. 

Her lips met his kiss for kiss, but she was rigid against him, her body strung tighter than a bow, braced for attack. Determined, Peter pressed deeper, slipping the hand currently not occupied with her hair up over her shoulder to cradle the back of her neck. 

Her involuntary flinch as she seemed to force herself to meet his advances sent his stomach plummeting to the floor.

Something was off for a reason. 

Little things piled up inside his head, layer upon suffocating layer: her posture, the inflection of her voice, the tea, everything adding up to one horrifying conclusion.

He was kissing the wrong Olivia.

Snapping back as if he’d been burned, Peter could only stare at her dumbly as their bodies tried to catch up with their minds. She regained the ability to move first, launching off the couch, hands behind her back, even as he lunged for her. Scrambling to his feet, Peter found himself nose to muzzle with her Glock. 

Glowering over the barrel, he met her defiant smirk, and his heart seized painfully as he wondered how he could’ve ever thought this woman in front of him was the Olivia he’d known for the better part of nearly two years.   
Rising up to his full height, Peter feigned nonchalance as the gun never wavered. This was far from his first rodeo. 

“Ya know, I don’t think shooting me would go over too well back home.”

The poor facsimile of Olivia merely shrugged, leveling the barrel at his centre of mass. “I’m willing to take my chances.”

Heart thundering with a potent mixture of anticipation and fury, Peter’s lip curled into a sneer as an old idea presented itself. Directing his gaze over her shoulder was all bait he needed and her eyes followed suit. Who’d have thought she’d be so predictable? In the split second when her attention was divided, Peter slid out a hand towards the couch. Snagging his coat, he whirled it over her face like a matador taunting a bull. 

Instinctively, she reeled back, fingers tightening over the trigger. Ducking under the flailing fabric, Peter rushed at her unprotected flank, catching her around her waist. Her trigger finger slid home, discharging the gun into the ceiling as she crashed to the floor under his weight. 

Rolling as much of his bulk over her as he could, Peter braced himself as Olivia railed against him fiercely. She managed to get one solid shot in, and he fought back the stars that exploded behind his eyes as her left hook connected soundly with his jaw. A surge of anger seared through his veins and he grabbed her right wrist, slamming her hand viciously into the hardwood floor. The weapon remained tight in her grip, so he rammed her fingers down again and again, exorcising his rage and frustration before finally knocking the gun from her grasp. 

With a furious cry, Olivia tried to gain leverage against him, but he reared back, snagging her other hand and dragging her up onto her knees before wrenching her right arm behind her back and shoving her face-first into the floor. 

Breaths coming in rough pants, Peter loomed over her still struggling form. Dropping his knee into her spine, he pushed her into the unyielding wood. Pulling her hair away from her face with his free hand, he fought back a fresh wave of nausea as his eyes were drawn to an unfamiliar tattoo marring the skin of her neck. Gripping the makeshift ponytail like a rope, he drew her head back close to his lips, ignoring the gasp wrenched from her throat. 

Leaning in, his words ghosted over her ear, “You messed with the wrong guy, Sweetheart.”

***

The security guard barely blinked as she flashed the badge that wasn’t hers and strode purposefully, never breaking her stride, towards the bank of elevators along the far wall. She held her breath, counting her lucky stars that the guy had been too bored to actually look at the picture on the small piece of plastic dangling from her hip. Instead, he practically averted his gaze as the Fringe agent glanced furtively over her shoulder while she punched the call button for the cars reaching the upper floors, probably praying her appearance wouldn’t result in the whole building being quarantined. 

Heart hammering in her chest, Olivia rocked back and forth on her heels, counting down the numbers as they illuminated one by one until the doors opened in front of her. Forcing nonchalance, she stepped forward into the empty car and heaved a sigh of relief as the doors closed, affording her the first bit of relative sanctuary since she’d waltzed into the lobby of the World Trade Center’s North Tower. Sucking in another deep breath, she went back to counting off numbers, surprised but glad for the different technology that meant she wasn’t going to have to transfer cars part way through. Still, she wished the elevator would rise faster as she carefully kept her face turned away from the camera in the corner. 

Just a few more steps.

Absently, she adjusted her belt. The agent who had unwittingly donated their clothing was a size larger and Olivia was constantly needing to pull up the pants. It was a negligible price to pay, however, for the small blessing that finding her way off the boat had proven to be easier than she’d expected. She was certain that the rest of the crew had likely found the young agent by now, bound but unharmed in the same locker that had housed Olivia for the trip to the mainland. 

Glancing down at her hands, Olivia suppressed a shudder as memories of screams, blinding heat and fury flashed across her mental canvas, twisting the knot of guilt sitting heavily in her gut. Carefully, she flexed her fingers, marvelling at the pale, unmarred skin that had wrought so much damage over the last few hours. Hazarding a glance to the side of the car, she caught her reflection in the mirrored panel.

She wasn’t sure that she knew the woman looking back at her. 

Sure, the red hair was jarring, but it was more than that. There was a severity about her, a steeliness to her eyes that she’d never noticed before. Olivia couldn’t help but wonder if it had always been there. Blowing out a careful breath through her nostrils, she dropped her eyes to the floor, willing away the cloud of remorse and doubt that threatened to consume her. 

Then, shoving her hands into the pockets of her pilfered jacket, Olivia picked up her head and stared resolutely forward. There was no time for looking back. All she could do now was keep herself from ever reaching those depths again.

The soft ping of the elevator reaching its destination coaxed her from her self-flagellation. The doors opened with a hiss to reveal a now-familiar white corridor. As expected, no one was around to greet her at this ungodly hour of the morning. Cautiously, she edged her way down the hall, alert for any sign of a trap, retracing steps that were still a hazy memory until she came face to face with the office she was looking for. 

Pushing through the door, Olivia half expected to find Bell waiting for her on the other side, sitting placidly at his desk, his fingers steepled under his chin. 

The office was empty. The room was still, papers strewn across the glass-topped desk, reading glasses dropped haphazardly on the nearby coffee table next to an oxygen tank she remembered from her last visit. It was as though the occupant has simply disappeared, vanished into the ether while in the middle of just another day. Carefully, she scanned every surface, her trained gaze searching for any hint as to where William Bell went when he wasn’t here. A glimmer caught her eye and Olivia turned to find the brass bell she’d remembered seeing before still gracing the corner of his desk, a silent reminder of the office’s owner. He must have brought it with him from the other side ... from her side. 

It wasn’t the only thing that glimmered. 

A gentle flicker drew her gaze to the collection of papers scattered on the desk. Switching on a nearby lamp, Olivia came face to face with herself. It was a graduation announcement from Quantico. Rifling through the pile, she caught sight of her name many times, in newspaper articles, official commendations, her mother’s obituary. She’d stumbled across a veritable scrapbook of her life. 

She hadn’t even begun to wonder what it meant when a soft shuffling behind her snapped her mind into full alert. She whirled and the gun at her hip was in her hand, aimed squarely at the potential assailant, before Olivia had even registered her movement. 

“Don’t move.”

It was a woman, thin, and with a very subtle stoop to her shoulders. The cleaning lady? Her hands were held aloft in the universal sign of surrender, but shadows clouded her features. 

“Come out where I can see you.”

As the stranger moved into the golden glow cast by the desk lamp, Olivia bit back a gasp at the frightened eyes gazing back at her. They were green, like her own, but their warm depths were unmistakable. 

“Mrs. Bishop?” The name felt strange on her tongue.

The flash of acknowledgment in the other woman’s eyes, confirming her suspicions, was quickly supplanted by a strange mixture of fear, resignation and defiance.

“Did my husband send you?” Her voice was quiet but strong. 

Olivia couldn’t quite contain her confusion.

“No. I’m looking for William Bell. I need his help, Mrs. Bishop. Peter and Walter, the other Walter … they … they don’t know I’m here.”

Mrs. Bishop stepped closer at the mention of her son’s name. “You know my son?” she asked, studying Olivia with narrowed eyes. 

Suddenly, recognition dawned across the older woman’s face, her eyes going wide with alarm. “You’re Olivia. You’re Peter’s Olivia,” she whispered, her voice laden with dismay. “You should’ve been with them,” she added, almost as an afterthought.  
Olivia staggered under the weight of all the disjointed information bearing down on her already exhausted mind, her injured shoulder protesting its current position. The gun faltered and she swayed on her feet. Peter’s mother closed the distance, catching Olivia under her arms and taking most of her weight onto her own body. 

“You’re injured,” she muttered, reflexively putting her hand to Olivia’s forehead. “You look exhausted. Come, sit down.” 

Unwanted moisture stung Olivia’s eyes as she let herself be led to a nearby couch. Weariness dragged on her every muscle as the adrenaline that had been propelling her forward for the last endless number of hours finally petered out. Her battered feet hobbled along the hardwood floor in her oversized boots. Collapsing on the couch, she offered no resistance as Mrs. Bishop urged her back against the cushions, her weathered hands fluttering over Olivia’s body as though she couldn’t figure out where was safe to touch. It had been so long since she’d received any form of comfort that the sudden mothering by the woman who had brought Peter into the world blew past all of her defences, drawing tears of both sorrow and relief down her reddened cheeks. 

Of course, Mrs. Bishop noticed. “Oh, dear, it’s okay,” she soothed, smudging the salty trails with her thumb. “We’ll figure this out. Please, call me Elizabeth.”

Her words snapped Olivia out of her sudden funk like a bucket of ice water. Blinking, she ruthlessly reminded herself that she was far from out of the woods yet. 

Eyes focused, she stilled Elizabeth’s fussing with a sharp look. “How do you know who I am? What are you doing here? Where’s Bell?”

The questions spilled from her lips, her mind once again spinning at full speed, trying to make sense of the puzzle in which she currently found herself immersed. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Peter’s mother sat heavily on the coffee table. Running a hand up over her greying hair and tucking a few wayward strands back into the loose bun, the older woman seemed to search for a place to begin.

“It’s complicated,” she said finally, echoing another conversation Olivia remembered having in this room. The FBI agent regarded her steadily, urging Elizabeth to continue.

“William has been a part of my life for a long time. We met over fifteen years ago at a party after my husband had been promoted to the post of Secretary of Defense. Walter had introduced him to me as one of the Department’s suppliers.”   
A whisper of a smile tugged at Elizabeth’s lips as she let herself be drawn into the memory. “William was charming, and I found myself seeking out his company whenever we both ended up at the same functions. My husband is always busy at those things, you see, working the room, maintaining contacts.”

Olivia sat up straighter, curiosity sending another much-needed shot of adrenaline to her system. 

“Well, after a while, we started seeking each other out away from public events.”

Elizabeth fidgeted, seeming to shrink into herself, but Olivia didn’t let her get far. A tentative brush of her fingers across Mrs. Bishop’s hand drew the other woman’s gaze to hers.

“I’ve been lonely a long time. Even before we lost Peter, I….” 

A crushing wave of guilt threatened to drown her heart as Olivia realized just what this woman had been through losing her son. She’d felt it herself in those endless grey days that had followed Peter’s leaving. Still, the emptiness that had consumed her was likely nothing compared to what Elizabeth Bishop had suffered over the last twenty-five years. Reflexively, Olivia slid her fingers under the older woman’s hand, lacing them together in a silent and inadequate apology for pain she’d endured.   
Elizabeth answered with a watery smile. “William filled a void, and for a while it worked. Then, one day he told me the truth.” Her eyes darkened with the memory. “He did it because he could no longer go back and I suppose he thought that he needed a fresh start or something. I was furious, livid, I, I can’t even describe to you how angry I was. All that time he’d had access to my son, had known where he was and now when he couldn’t bring him back….”

Olivia’s brows furrowed trying to imagine how she would handle such an unbelievable situation. “But you forgave him?”

The older woman started at the question, drawn out of a painful period that, although it had been dulled with age, still cut her to the core. Her eyes softened as she regarded the FBI agent. “I know it’s hard to fathom, but yes, I did. In time, I understood what your Walter had done and I was just grateful to know that Peter was alive and, for all accounts, well. I found that despite my sense of betrayal, I just couldn’t reject William completely. He began to fill a new void, feeding me snippets of my son’s life as they reached him from the other side. I never told Walter. He’d become consumed with vengeance and power by that point and I figured it would do more harm than good.”

Olivia couldn’t help but flinch at her mention of the man whose face haunted her nightmares in the darkness. Biting her lip, she remained silent, unsure of just how much Peter’s mother knew about the man she shared her life with, and not wanting to add any more pain to an already heavy load. 

“Don’t misunderstand me, Olivia. I love my husband and I always will, but he stopped being the man I married a long time ago. Even before Peter disappeared, and then after, we’ve dealt with losing him in very different ways.” Sighing resignedly, she pressed forward, “I’m beginning to understand just what he’s become and I’m relieved to know that Peter will be kept safe from that.”

Olivia tightened her grip, squeezing Elizabeth’s fingers as her heart was squeezed painfully in her chest.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Bishop,” she whispered. 

“Whatever for?”

“You’ve found your son after all these years and I came to take him away from you again. I’m sorry you have to go through that.”

Elizabeth smiled serenely. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m starting to realize just how much danger he’s in on this side. Seeing him again was the greatest joy of my life, but I only want him to be safe and happy, and he seems to be that way with you.”

“I still don’t understand how you know who I am.”

The older woman’s lips spread further into an almost impish grin. “My son talks in his sleep, my dear.”

Olivia couldn’t fight the colour that warmed her cheeks.

Elizabeth’s gentle laugh was a welcome moment of levity in an otherwise dismal situation. “While that’s true, I’ve actually heard a lot about you from William.”

Olivia’s eyes strayed to the desk, her mind hearkening back to the collection of papers she’d discovered earlier. Peter’s mother noticed her gaze and nodded. “He’s followed your progress for a long time. I think he’s always thought of you as the daughter he never had.”

Her weary mind struggled to grasp all the threads that were slowly weaving together, forming a picture she’d never even begun to imagine. Still, there were more pressing matters bearing down on them. 

“Where is Dr. Bell?”

The mirth in the older woman’s eyes faded. “I’m not entirely sure. A few days ago, he contacted me and told me that Peter had to go back, and that you and Walter had come to take him over. He told me that they were going to need his help and we’d probably never see each other again. It was strange, really; he said something about there being more atoms in the human body than there are stars in the sky.”

Olivia’s heart plummeted to the floor as her words clicked the puzzle pieces into place. The doorstop - Bell had opened the door with the only power source he had: himself.

William Bell was gone.

Sucking in a breath, Olivia fought to still the swirling mass of dread and desperation that threatened to suck her down into their depths. The balloon had drifted away and the wizard was gone. She’d missed her only ride home. 

Suddenly a cool hand drew her back to the present. Blinking, she met Elizabeth’s worried gaze. Face crumpling with sadness, she let herself be drawn into a mother’s embrace for the first time she could remember. 

“Shh,” Peter’s mother whispered into her hair, hands gently soothing up over her back. “We’ll find a way to get you home.”


End file.
